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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/22664041">lean on</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/Philomytha/pseuds/Philomytha'>Philomytha</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Vorkosigan Saga - Lois McMaster Bujold</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Book: The Vor Game, Escobar, Gen, Loyalty, Missing Scene</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-02-13</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-02-13</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-04-28 15:48:18</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>General Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>1,214</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/22664041</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/Philomytha/pseuds/Philomytha</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>lean on: to browbeat, to pressure, to rely on, to entrust</p><p> <em>"I have always," Count Vorkosigan flashed a peculiar grin, "leaned on you, Simon."</em></p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>33</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>186</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Collections:</b></td><td>Chocolate Box - Round 5</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>lean on</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><ul class="associations">
      <li>For <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/users/sophiegaladheon/gifts">sophiegaladheon</a>.</li>



    </ul></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Illyan had been up since two in the morning, and by evening he was thinking longingly of his bed. Of any bed. A sofa, a soft chair, a flat corner of his office. Instead he flicked through the final reports from the Kyril Island fiasco: all the people involved had been identified and detained by Service Security, everyone was nailed down, it wasn't fixed but it wouldn't get any worse now. Illyan had controlled it all at a remove, setting the board up and letting the moves play out without interfering. General Metzov was demanding representation from the military legal department; he would get it, but it wouldn't save him. Miles was being treated for pneumonia downstairs. Illyan felt no inclination to visit him, though he had read the medical report in full before forwarding it to Cordelia. Five of the other mutineers were also being treated for cold-related illness: standing outside naked at midnight during a Kyril Island winter was not recommended for anyone's health. </p><p>His comm flashed with an update: Aral had moved their late meeting from the Prime Minister's office to Vorkosigan House. At least there were better sofas at Vorkosigan House. Illyan marked it accepted and let the smooth mechanisms of ImpSec carry him there while he ran through the preliminary interrogation results. Fifteen petty infractions which could be overlooked, nothing exciting. He put the work aside at the door to Vorkosigan House's library, passing his comm-pad to his aide and setting the chip's ongoing analysis to low priority, then went in. </p><p>This was evidently not going to be a formal meeting. A fire was burning on the hearth, the curtains were drawn, and Aral was seated alone on one of the deep sofas, half-empty glass in hand, a crystal decanter on the table at his side, looking almost as tired as Illyan felt. He'd woken Aral an hour after the first reports had come in this morning, once it was clear that Miles was in it up to his neck. Illyan smothered a yawn, crossed the room and let himself sink down onto the sofa too, saying nothing until Aral had poured out a second glass and given it to him.  </p><p>"It's under control," Illyan said, the briefest possible report. "I've got everyone and everything nailed down. The only thing I can't help is the rumours, I'll have to let them play out for a little, see where it's going. My analysts--" supported by Lady Alys, whose opinion he had sought as a matter of urgency "--say it won't cause that much of an uproar. The outgoing comms from Kyril Island are being monitored so we can keep ahead of it. But it'll blow over. And nothing else new has come up that you need to worry about. The Hegen Hub issues haven't changed since yesterday." </p><p>"Good." Aral lifted his glass in salute to Illyan. "I apologise for the trouble my son has caused you." </p><p>"As you've had occasion to do the past--" Illyan let his chip work out the exact number "--fifteen times he's caused me completely unnecessary security issues. And now you're going to streamline the process for him by putting him in Security. Will you at least let me send him undercover as a defector to Cetaganda, and let him cause chaos there instead?" </p><p>Aral laughed. "He's all yours now, Simon, you get to choose what to do with him." </p><p>"He is in my HQ," Illyan retorted, emphasising each word. "He was only on Kyril Island three months. It shouldn't even be possible to get into trouble on Kyril Island, we send people to Kyril Island specifically to prevent them causing trouble, and look at it now." He took a frustrated sip of brandy. Aral had brought out the best, as if to underline his apology. "Other than sending him to Cetaganda... perhaps I should involve him in building maintenance. You've been promising me a new HQ building for the past decade. If Miles blows this one up within a month, you'll have to give me a new one." </p><p>"Sneaky," Aral said, matching his tone. "You see why I think you're the right person to command him. I'm not going to pull your strings here, Simon. Find a way to use him, without excessive property damage. Take this loose cannon and find a way to aim him at our enemies. I'll be satisfied."</p><p>"You're never satisfied," Illyan muttered. </p><p>Aral gave a snort. "He's going to fit right in with your men, you know he will, even if all you do is set him to work finding more flaws in your security systems." He sat back on the sofa, and Illyan let himself relax a little more too. Aral moved to top up his glass, but Illyan shook his head. He was sleepy enough already. Aral refilled his own and stared at the fire, sipping it slowly, apparently at ease, but his free hand was moving, fingers tapping in anxious sequence against his thigh. Illyan waited. The silence seemed to hang around them like smoke. </p><p>"There is one thing," Aral said at last, just when Illyan was wondering whether to prompt him to spit it out. "I want you to understand, Simon, I don't mean any disrespect to ImpSec by this. You do the really hard stuff, you have to work in the dark and in the muck for me, for the Empire, and I trust you to do it well, to know how and when to act. But... let him keep his soul. Don't use him for--for the ugliest stuff. You know what I mean. I don't want him involved in assassinations." He took another sip from his glass, but there was nothing relaxed about it now, a too-familiar reaching for escape. His voice was level, but the undertones were raw with a wound that even twenty years could not fully heal. </p><p>Illyan exhaled slowly, understanding all too much. </p><p>"I'm sorry," Aral went on, the raw edges escaping his efforts to contain them. "I know I shouldn't--it's not fair of me to ask you to do these things and then turn around and tell you I won't have my son involved in them, but--"</p><p>"I am his Uncle Simon too," Illyan said across this, to put a stop to this, before Aral stopped speaking to him and started speaking to Ezar twenty years ago, started pleading with Ezar twenty years ago. "I won't break him, Aral. Not this or any other way, not if any action of mine can prevent it." </p><p>Aral put down his glass. "My father always told me," he said, "that we get the liegemen we deserve. But I can't believe that I've done anything to deserve--" He reached out, closing his hand around Illyan's, the grip cold. </p><p>A coal fell in the hearth, sparks flowering around it. Illyan let his hand rest in Aral's. Then, deliberately lightly, smiling, he said, "That's the result of this brandy. I'll look after him, Aral. It'll be fine. Come on. It's been a very long day." He pushed himself up with a grunt, pulling Aral with him. </p><p>Aral stood. He slung his arm around Illyan's shoulders, hard and heavy, his weight falling on him, leaning on him. "Brandy or not," he said, "it's true."</p>
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